


OSS #5 Demons AU

by somewhereelse



Series: bee-eye-en-gee-oh [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, F/M, Mild Language, Olicity Summer Sizzle, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 13:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19476655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: There’s a demon stalking Felicity Smoak. Her soul is at stake, and Oliver never leaves empty-handed.





	OSS #5 Demons AU

Oliver is sick and tired.

He’s been at this for what feels like forever and he is sick and tired of being blamed for every damned thing that goes wrong. Famine, flood, stubbed toes, and more all eventually comes to rest on his shoulders. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but he’s _sick_ and _tired_.

To prove his point, his physical body gives a wheezing cough that he ignores. There will be time enough to deal with those repercussions. First, he has a job to do.

The streets are dark, and the alleys darker. Entrepreneurial petty criminals long ago busted the lights the city can’t afford, or don’t care, to replace. In all his travels, Oliver recognizes a lack of investment as the first sign of an urban ghetto.

He passes quickly through the area. There’s nothing there for him, not with the claws of despair sunk so deep already. At a deliberately casual pace, he advances towards more prosperous neighborhoods, careful to keep to the shadows. After all his time skulking in the dark, literal light hurts his eyes. Sunglasses at night just make him feel like a douchebag, which somehow seems like a worse indictment than all the other names he’s been called.

A limo speeds past him. Through the open moonroof, drunken revelers dance and disrupt the surrounding, likely sleeping, population. Obviously, they’re headed away from the ghetto they exploited for tawdry entertainment purposes and back to their shiny, unearned palaces of excess.

Oliver imagines overturning the vehicle in the otherwise empty street.

_If only_.

He forces himself to stay the course and focus on the job at hand. Then he can get some rest.

* * *

“Excuse me?”

The words break into his conscious, but he doesn’t actually respond. He’s too busy wondering how he got here. Here being the alcohol aisle of a convenience store, by the looks of it.

“ _Excuse me_.”

The polite words are repeated with a hint of annoyance to them. 

Oliver acknowledges them with a tilt of his head, but his feet don’t move.

“You’re blocking the”—a hand waves into his peripheral vision—“Could I just get that bottle?”

Turning to find an impatient woman, hands on hips, foot tapping, he’s rendered speechless.

“Look I don’t know what your deal is, but it’s been a long day, and I would really like to just curl up in bed with a bottle of wine. And I know what that sounds like, I swear I’m not an alcoholic, it’s just been one of those weeks and—”

She comes to a complete stop when she finally lets off tugging and smoothing her ponytail in agitation and looks up at him. “Jesus— I mean, not _Jesus_ , I’m Jewish. But good G— heaven’s sa— I mean, never mind. Ignore me. _Please_.” Then, she flushes an unprecedented shade of red.

For all her stuttering, Oliver’s not faring any better.

If literal light hurts his eyes, metaphorical light hurts his soul. Or the blackened, charred remains of his soul. And this woman is searing into his eyeballs like the personification of hope and faith and everything _good_.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other.

“Felicity!”

Is _that_ her name? Oliver cocks his head. There’s never been one more apt. Her parents must have been prophets, or as near as exists in modern times.

“Did you get the—” Another young woman comes wandering up to them. Oliver tears his eyes away from Felicity to observe her observing him. “Hello there.”

Despite the usually suggestive phrasing, her voice is laced with skepticism. After a moment’s consideration, Oliver realizes she’s not attracted to his sex, and therefore unimpressed with his physical appearance. Instead, she’s noting his worn clothing, distressed boots, the small collection of scars around his neck, and the burst blood vessels in his eyes. All that and the tension between him and her friend has her stepping protectively towards Felicity.

“Let’s get going,” the interloper insists. She tugs at Felicity’s elbow, and Felicity jerks as if just registering her presence.

“Alena, I haven’t gotten the wine.”

Her protest is made moot by Alena, the smaller of the two, ducking down quickly to grab the bottle at issue. 

“All done,” Alena smiles but it’s forced. Her hand reaches for Felicity’s again, holding on tight. “Uh, nice to meet you. Good night.”

Felicity trails behind her to the checkout stand, tossing the occasional glance over her shoulder back at him.

Fists clenching, Oliver realizes why he suddenly found himself in this store at this exact moment. _Felicity_ is the target. All he has to do is keep close until the opportunity presents itself.

* * *

Oliver hovers, anxious and annoyed, outside Felicity’s townhouse. 

It seems this Alena is not just a friend but a roommate. Which is a complication.

Attacks need to occur at night and when the victim is alone or lost in a crowd. A difficult thing to accomplish when there’s a singular roommate, who, Oliver suspects, doesn’t have much of a social life. Not that _Felicity_ is any better on that front as the two women are practically inseparable. They work in the same building, carpool together, and share a home. Oliver would assume they’re more than platonic friends if not for the adherence to separate bedrooms.

While a known location might be an easier target, it also lacks alibis and cover in the way that packed nightclubs and dingy alleyways provide. Those places are rife with degenerates and, thus, possible suspects. Instead, it looks like he is stuck surveilling and impatiently waiting outside a nondescript townhouse.

A week passes. He creates a bolt hole in the basement of an abandoned Queen Consolidated factory to rest and recuperate during the day. The irony almost makes him laugh. 

He can tell the rest is restorative based not just on his energy levels but also by the women, and a few men, who stare at him openly whenever he ventures out during the day. The attention is unwanted and bad for his cover so Oliver retreats and spends more time monitoring Felicity.

For some time, he can’t figure out how she’s attracted the attention of the underworld. They usually prey on the souls teetering on the edge, the easy pickings. It’s how they got his sister after all. Only occasionally do they enjoy the spectacle of capturing one of the _truly_ good.

Felicity, for all his early gawking, seems utterly mundane. She goes to work, returns home, and spends evenings engaging in the banal hobbies most humans use to convince themselves their lives aren’t wholly miserable. On weekends, she and Alena lounge around the house or run errands. The only social activity is a book club at a local bookstore, which happens to lie on a convergence of ley lines that make it impossible for him to eavesdrop. But they enter the store’s back room precisely at noon on Sundays and leave precisely at one, which gives him reassurance in its consistency.

Since Felicity is surrounded by people during the day and ensconced with Alena at night, Oliver feels himself relax, bit by bit, night by night. There’s honestly nothing to do but wait for the opportunity to present itself. 

His superiors don’t take kindly to his unofficial leave of absence. Oliver explains the situation, the unorthodox arrangement, the lengths he’s taken to monitor the target while remaining hidden. They grudgingly agree to his continued assignment.

A month passes. 

Oliver’s gotten used to his mundane human life, forced as he is to adhere to a mundane human’s routine. He grocery shops, learns to cook, finds himself following the pop culture that Felicity and Alena spend so much time watching. The target grows fascinating to him. Oliver tells himself it’s propinquity, having never had to learn a target like this before, but there’s no denying that he looks forward to the nights when he can observe her unimpeded.

Felicity reminds him of being _human_.

One night, everything changes. There’s an air of excitement to the women. Instead of changing into lounging clothes when she comes home, Felicity puts on a red dress, reapplies makeup, and pins her hair up in some complicated fashion. It’s been some time for him, but Oliver is almost certain he’s observing the beginnings of a courtship ritual.

Objectively, the man who rings the doorbell is no threat. He looks young and nervous and very unsure of what constitutes an acceptable greeting on a first date. Oliver follows them anyway.

Sure enough, what follows is the textbook definition of boring. Except it’s all perfectly attuned to appeal to his Fe—target. Dinner is at a nicer than standard restaurant, but Oliver’s heart constricts when he sees how thoroughly Felicity is enjoying the conversation revolving around their shared interests. The movie, too, is the latest in Felicity’s favorite franchise. She’s already seen it, with Alena, multiple times, but relishes the experience with a new companion nonetheless.

After a drive loaded with not-so-sneaky looks, they share a chaste kiss on her front porch, and he snarls at the sight. The sound travels through the night like a clap of thunder, and the couple jumps apart. They laugh nervously before Felicity slips into her home, sighing.

For some reason, weeks later, a second date has failed to materialize with both parties at fault at various times. Oliver’s not sure if it’s truly coincidence or an accidental manifestation of his displeased subconscious. Either way, he’s relieved.

Then, one night, the lights dim in Felicity’s bedroom.

Oliver immediately takes note. She’s an insanely attractive woman, who he now knows far too intimately, and as has been recently proven by his wishing for the demise of her date, he’s no _angel_. He creeps closer to the house, even if sight is not necessarily his only sense in use.

But Felicity is not pleasuring herself this time. No, she’s hunkered down in front of the bank of computer monitors in a corner of her room. It’s hard for Oliver to understand what she’s doing at first. Technology has never been his strong suite.

Everything comes together suddenly. Felicity is some kind of crusader. In the course of a few hours, she crashes supremacist and misogynistic websites and redirects funds to various charities of her choosing. Heretofore untraceable internet harassers find their accounts locked, physical addresses unveiled, and damning evidence provided to the appropriate authorities. If not for all the attention she’s attracting from the underworld by playing this white knight, Oliver would find her efficiency remarkable.

It takes him a moment longer to understand that she has a partner in crime, one communicated with via computer but in the very next room. Her friend and roommate is also a fellow hacker. 

The realization hits him. 

Alena wouldn’t be an innocent bystander, untouchable by the laws of old, but acceptable collateral damage. 

Oliver must act immediately.

He races to the front door and comes up short at the start of the walkway. Alena advances on him, hands full of glowing rocks. She drops a few by accident, and they roll forward on the pavement as he jumps back instinctively.

“Okay, I don’t know what kind of weirdo stalker you are, but you need to stay the hell away from my friend!”

Holding his hands up, Oliver tries to convey his innocence. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Yeah, right,” she retorts, all sarcasm, “You’re that guy from the corner store. You’ve been stalking Felicity ever since. I don’t know _what_ you are, but you need to cut it the fuck out!”

“And what do you think I am?” Oliver asks, a sinister smirk on his face.

“I— I don’t know,” Alena stammers just as he intended. Fear’s risen in her eyes, overpowering the adrenaline rush of the initial confrontation. Then she lifts the rocks higher again and steels herself. “Whatever you are, Nyssa said these will keep you away.”

He tilts his head interestedly. That’s a name he hasn’t heard in years. “You know Nyssa?”

She blushes, obvious even by streetlight, and looks away. Ah, one of the Demon Head’s daughter’s _harem_ then. After renouncing her father, Nyssa al Ghul defected from the underworld and took up a human disguise. That she ended up here, “friends” with his target’s friend, is an unsettling coincidence.

He stares at Alena with grudging respect. She may not have known exactly what she was dealing with, but Felicity’s little friend has guts and decent instincts. These protection rocks would explain why their house has never been attacked. Because, while Felicity and Alena may live together, they have separate bedrooms, and that’s more than enough distance for an attack to occur.

“Wait. You took all the rocks out here?” His question is frantic as he runs past the tiny obstacle.

“Well, yeah,” Alena confirms, following behind him. Oliver can just tell she’s confused by the lack of effect on him. “I didn’t know how many I needed to scare you off.”

“ _None_ ,” Oliver grits out between clenched teeth, “I’m human. Whatever’s after Felicity _isn’t_. Those rocks were the only things creating a protective barrier around the house. Well, that and having you around _all the time_. And now you’ve left her alone in the house without any protection.”

“Oh shit!” Her footsteps pick up pace, and suddenly she’s on his heels. 

Frustrated, Oliver growls, “Don’t _drop_ them,” when he hears clattering behind him.

“Who the hell are you then?” Alena pants as they race up the stairs.

“I’m a demon _hunter_ ,” Oliver explains in a huff, just before kicking in Felicity’s locked bedroom door. “Good thing, too, because _that’s_ a fucking demon.”

Alena yelps, seeing the massive black cloud hovering in the window and advancing towards Felicity’s desk. Which is empty. His eyes fly to the closed bathroom door as the demon starts coalescing into a more tangible form. From over his shoulder, Alena chucks a glowing rock at the half-formed cloud, momentarily dispersing that area back into vapor.

Yeah, decent instincts, he notes again.

“Alena!” Felicity sounds terrified behind the other door. So she’s not just in the middle of a bathroom break but actively hiding. “What the hell is going on out there?!”

“I don’t know, but your stalker’s here and he says he’s a demon hunter!” Alena yells back, throwing another rock before passing him a couple.

He growls in frustration. “I _am_ a demon hunter,” he shoves the rocks back at her, “and I can do a little better than protection rocks.”

Out of his ever-present rucksack, he unsheathes a sword, engraved with ancient symbols and imbued with the blood of forsaken souls, including his family’s.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Alena repeats, eying the sword warily. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

Then she’s gone down the stairs. So he was wrong about guts. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Felicity,” he calls and receives a whimper in response. Oliver punts a rock, and it ricochets against the increasingly solid cloud, bouncing into Felicity’s desk. Running out of time, then. “I need you to get out of the bathroom and downstairs with Alena.”

Hopefully, she hasn’t fled the house. Or if she did, hopefully she at least left behind the protection rocks and has explained their purpose to Felicity. Who is _still_ hiding in the bathroom.

“Quickly!” Oliver adds when he hasn’t received a response but he can see the demon’s horns taking shape.

The door cracks open. She must see the almost fully coalesced demon—it’s hard to miss—because the door slams shut again.

Oliver yells an exasperated, “Felicity!” He does not need her turning coward like her friend.

The door flies open, and Felicity comes barreling at him. Oliver can hear her muttering, “Oh frak,” repeatedly as she half takes cover behind him. Did she miss the part about _downstairs?_

“What are you doing?” he growls. This is not the time for a conversation. Or the annoyed look she gives him. “Go downstairs.”

Felicity lifts her chin before declaring, “I’m not going to leave you here, _alone_ , with whatever _that_ is.”

“It’s kind of my job,” he points out obviously, “And what do you care? You don’t even know me.”

“You’re the stupid good-looking stalker who’s actually a demon hunter hiding in plain sight. What else do I need to know? I’m not going to leave you here to _die alone_.” 

Something in his heart flutters because when’s the last time he met someone who gave a flying fuck about his survival? It’s not enough to override his common sense though. One too many times, he’s accepted the help of an overeager civilian only to regret it in the heat of battle.

“I’m not going to die, and you’ll just get in the way. My job is to save your ridiculously pert ass. Not get it killed.”

“Tell me what to do,” she insists stubbornly, hands on hips, foot tapping, just like the night in the convenience store, “Me and my ridiculously pert ass can be the diversion.”

“Diversion? You’re the entire reason it’s here!” He ignores her pleased grin at his appreciation of her very fine backside. He has eyes, she has eyes, and he’s not concerned about it at the moment. Not when there are bigger issues like, “And you’re completely defenseless.”

“No, I’m not.” She whacks the side of her bookcase, and a panel falls out. Awkwardly sticking her hand in the recess, Felicity pulls out an axe that looks remarkably similar to his sword in markings. “Nyssa gave me this.”

Before he can ask if she can even use the damn thing, Felicity twists it effortlessly in one hand. “And lessons,” she adds with a grin.

“Fine, you can stay,” he grumbles. 

Oliver’s less concerned about the demon than he initially thought. Based on how long it’s taking to form, long enough that they’ve had an entire conversation, it must be young. And he’s curious about what’s so special about Felicity Smoak that Nyssa al Ghul would deign to give her lessons. The daughter of the Demon’s Head was notoriously private in the underworld, and he can only imagine she would be more so having to maintain her cover in the human world.

“Alright, in a second, the demon will be fully formed and I’ll—”

“Aim for the head,” Felicity grunts. 

She swings the axe high, and just a tad wobbly, but the blade makes contact in a clean swoosh. The head goes flying, and the body crumples to a heap that turns into black smoke. Vanquished.

Oliver ignores the head rolling on the ground and instead mentally notes she needs to build her arm strength a bit more if she’s going to handle that axe well.

What?

_No._

He’s confiscating that axe from her and marching over to that bookstore, which is obviously owned by Nyssa now that he’s had two seconds to put the pieces together, and telling her to stay out of underworld business once and for all because she can’t have her cake and eat it, too. Felicity isn’t some sort of demon hunter in training. She’s a computer geek with way too much _Doctor Who_ paraphernalia.

Alena rushes back in, shrieking her head off. It takes him a moment to translate the warbling into words. 

“Oh my god, you did it! Your first demon! So badass!”

Are they kidding him? Oliver stares in complete disbelief. Are they actually _celebrating_ Felicity vanquishing a demon with absolutely no experience and probably very limited training?

“Stop it!” he bellows, interrupting the jumping and hugging.

“What’s up Van Helsing’s ass?” Alena asks in a stage whisper that he’s obviously meant to overhear. So much for having intimidated her earlier. 

Oliver grits his teeth. “I am not a _vampire_ hunter,” he corrects grouchily, “and give me that.”

He wrenches the axe from Felicity’s hands despite her protests. “Hey! I _earned_ that axe. It’s _mine_.”

“You can barely hold it up,” he retorts, bending to secure the weapons and the head in his rucksack.

When he straightens, Felicity’s gone silent and a little red. Yeah, he’s got a ridiculously pert ass, too, and it’s about time she notices. It takes her a moment to get her head screwed on straight.

Then she’s all sass and attitude again. “Do you really want me to tell Nyssa that you _stole_ my axe?”

“I’m not stealing anything,” he denies before pointing out, “It’s obviously the partner to my sword.”

Felicity shrugs and lifts her hands in a “duh” gesture.

“No,” he immediately argues again, “demon hunters are prophesied.”

This is the first woman he’s been attracted to and hasn’t had to explain his weird ass life to in _how long?_ And he’s already bickering with her and trying to get rid of her? Maybe this is why he hasn’t had sex in what feels like forever.

“Oh, a _prophesy_ , you say? Where have we heard that before, Alena? Maybe something like: “The eve of your thirtieth year portends a great evil. Unforeseen allies shall emerge from the shadows. Success shall reveal your calling, failure your end.” A prophesy like that?”

Oliver twists his mouth up. It’s _not_ a pout. Finally, he mumbles, “Yes.”

God, fuck, damn, shit. 

Stupid Powers That Be never telling him anything useful. And what was with that lecture? Were they seriously telling at him for taking too long to protect their next chosen one?

“So what’s next?” Alena asks eagerly, “Are you at least going to stop stalking Felicity now?”

Before Oliver can roll his eyes, Felicity adds on, “You don’t have to feel _that_ bad about that. I knew you were a demon hunter all along. I mean, all those muscles and the intense “the world is on my shoulders” brood and the pretty face and everything fit Nyssa’s description to a T. Kind of hard to miss in the corner store.” 

As he processes her babbling praise, Alena stares in horror. 

“Are you seriously flirting with the creepy demon hunter who’s been stalking you for two months and who we’re pretty sure has watched you masturbate?”

Oliver chokes. They couldn’t possibly _know_ that he had— Quickly, he fumbles for a diversion, “Hey, I was stalking a demon who was stalking Felicity. That doesn’t count.”

Alena doesn’t let him off the hook that easily. “And the second thing?”

Oliver’s ears go red. Weakly, he defends himself, “I turned around.”

Surprisingly, Felicity pitches in for his defense. “If it makes you feel better, Alena, I knew he was watching and I was usually picturing him when I did.”

He raises his eyebrows with interest, and she doesn’t back down, offering him a sly smile. _This_ , he can work with. Maybe having a partner won’t be so bad. Which he would have concluded sooner if his head hadn’t been up his ass.

Their silent exchange of intense and deliberate eye contact is interrupted by Alena’s exaggerating gagging.

“No, that doesn’t make me feel better. _Why_ would that make me feel better?” Felicity shrugs innocently at the rhetorical question, and Alena makes another face. “Ugh, okay, I’m leaving before you set feminism back another fifty years.”

Just as quickly as when there was a demon, Alena’s gone. He and Felicity are alone in her bedroom, with her bed—the very same bed where he’s seen her get off to thoughts of him—right there. Inexplicably, Oliver finds himself in possession of sweaty palms.

“So what are you going to do with the head?”

Apparently Felicity doesn’t share his train of thought. She’s opening his rucksack, poking at the head like it’s one of her computer parts and not roadkill. Gingerly, she pulls it out to stare and make grossed out faces.

Right. Just because he knows practically everything about her through ill-gotten means doesn’t mean Felicity knows anything about _him_ other than his name and occupation. Of course she’s not going to take a flying leap into bed with him.

Oliver shifts back into demon hunter mode. “Take it back to headquarters. They’ve been expecting it. And you, I guess,” he admits grudgingly.

Felicity shoves the head back in and stands, dusting off her hands. “Great. Nyssa’s told me all about the place. Or what she’s heard of it, I guess. Being one of the demons on high, she probably wasn’t a frequent visitor or anything.”

“No, just when she defected,” Oliver confirms slowly, feeling off-kilter from her agreeable nature and the change of topic. He knows Felicity is a genius but he didn’t expect her to be so acclimated to the underworld. Well, ten minutes ago, he didn’t think she _knew_ about the underworld.

“Nyssa made me pack a go bag in case,” she pulls it out from under the bed, “I’ve got like three days in here. Do you think that’s enough or will we be gone for longer?”

“What about your job?”

Felicity shoots him an incredulous look. “Were you actually surveilling me, or just being a Peeping Tom the entire time?”

With a slight flush, Oliver defends himself, “I don’t normally need to know the target’s _job_. I just never went in your office building, that’s all.” And he was a little _distracted_.

“If you did,” Felicity rolls her eyes, “you might have seen that I work at _Smoak_ Tech. It’s _my_ company. Alena’s my second. She can cover things as long as I have my phone.”

“Oh.” He stands, at a loss. Felicity stares back at him, waiting. “I guess we can go?”

Grabbing for his rucksack, Oliver attempts to recover his more confident, capable aura. He’s a wise, grizzled, exhausted, demon hunter, who doesn’t have the time or patience to deal with enthusiastic upstarts. Certainly not ones who make him feel like there’s blood pumping in his veins again.

Then Felicity speaks from behind him, and he nearly trips down the stairs.

“Tell me, oh wise one, do you have a room at the headquarters? And is your bed big enough to share? Because your ridiculously pert ass is kind of diverting me from formulating this plan on how to free your sister’s soul from the underworld.”

Oliver freezes then turns quickly to catch Felicity when she crashes into him. “You know about Thea?”

Eyes wide, she nods. Oliver can tell she’s worried she crossed a line and chokes out, “Nyssa,” as an explanation.

Well, who knew a demon could have a guilty conscience?

“Might have to go thank her,” he mutters, taking Felicity’s hand in his, “ _After_ we tour my bed.”

“Happy birthday to me,” Felicity hums, just as the clock strikes midnight.

**Author's Note:**

> We could pretend this was inspired by _Supernatural_ or _Lucifer_ or _Buffy_ or something watched by actual adults in this decade, but who remembers the Disney Channel Original Movie _Mom’s Got a Date with a Vampire?_ Cinematic masterpiece right there.


End file.
